I had to take you and make you mine
by nicodreams
Summary: In which Derek likes what Stiles is wearing, the Hale house starts to become a home again, and Lydia is obviously the smartest one around.


**I had to take you and make you mine** (Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, PG, 2200 words)

In which Derek likes what Stiles is wearing, the Hale house starts to become a home again, and Lydia is obviously the smartest one around.

* * *

Stiles is not entirely sure what's happening. He's used to being shoved up against walls by now, but this is a new one. They're on the ground.

He'd just been innocently minding his own business and poking around Derek's old house – and, ok, the dude has _got_ to renovate or redecorate or even just use some air freshener or _something_, this cannot be healthy living, Stiles is sure of it – when wham! A wild Derek appears. His takedown is super effective. (Stiles maybe needs to spend less time playing video games.)

"Derek, dude, as much as I appreciate this welcome gesture, I would appreciate more _being able to move my limbs_ and you know, not being on your dirty floor. Speaking of dirty, this house needs-"

Stiles cuts himself off in disbelief. It doesn't last for long.

"…Are you licking me? Ok, that really wasn't really the dirty I was going for. Derek? Dude?"

"Don't. Call. Me. Dude," Derek growls out, before returning to the licking. The growling tickles, and Stiles squirms in discomfort. If by "discomfort," he means "100% total arousal." Which he does. Oh God, Derek is going to kill him. Possibly by licking. Death by licking? Is that a thing? Stiles wouldn't mind so much then.

Stiles needs to stop this before things even more out of hand than they already are; namely, before Derek realizes that no, that is not a cellphone, Stiles is in fact _very_ _happy_ to see him.

"Derek," Stiles moans. No, wait, that's not right. He tries again.

"Derek," he pants.

Goddammit.

Derek doesn't seem to mind though, so maybe he can't hear Stiles's embarrassing noises over his own, which in their own right could be called embarrassing if anyone other than an Alpha werewolf were emitting them. There is now some biting involved, playful nips mixed with ones that are definitely going to leave a mark. Stiles has very delicate skin, you know.

"Derek," he tries once more, this time with force. Derek seems to take it as a wanton, "Fuck yes, keep going," rather than the incredulous, "Stop, what are you doing," Stiles was going for. He bites down harder, and _undulates_, there is no other word for it, and wow, Derek is also _very happy_ to see Stiles. Unless that actually is his cellphone. Stiles thinks probably not.

Stiles's surprise breaks the strange werewolf magic Derek's tongue is committing, and he can finally start talking again.

"Ok, so this is great, I know my body wash smells really great, I pick it for that reason, maybe it tastes good too, but how about you let me up? I'll even buy you some."

Derek looks at him as if he's crazy. That's a bit unfair. C'mon, Stiles is cheap, but if it means liberty, his wallet will totally take one for the team. The team being Stiles. Who needs to focus right now on his words and not on Derek's really hot body.

"Yeah, so if you just let me up, I'll just run down to the store, you know, and buy some of my nice smelling body wash for you. All for you! Isn't that great?"

Stiles isn't really sure how, but it seems to be working. Even for him, this rambling is pretty bad, but Derek's slowly pushing away.

He looks… confused. And hurt? No, that's probably Stiles's overactive imagination.

"Ok, so it's agreed! I'll just go. And come back! With the body wash! Of course." He smiles to show his sincerity.

"I don't want your body wash." The words sound like they're being pulled from Derek's mouth like teeth.

"Uh… Shampoo then? And can we stop with the looming? I'm starting to get a crick in my neck." Stiles's cheeks are also starting to hurt from his totally sincere smile.

Derek is standing above him, blocking him from getting up. "I don't want your shampoo."

Stiles is kind of at a loss. "Well, then work with me, man. What do you want?"

Finally, Derek moves. Retreats, almost, to the other side of the room.

"For you to leave. And for you never to wear _that_," and it's a curious mix of longing and self-disgust in his voice, "again."

Is this what normal people feel like? Totally stumped, not knowing what to say or do? Stiles resolves to feel more compassion towards Scott when he's being particularly dense.

And then it clicks.

"_Dude_," he crows. "That's a thing? Is this real life? What am I saying, I'm talking to a werewolf, this is already beyond real life…" He trails off at Derek's renewed growling.

"Ok, ok! Sheesh. I'm going. Calm yourself, sour wolf." Stiles stands and brushes himself off. He wasn't kidding when he said the floor was dirty. He can't help but surreptitiously peer up at Derek and give one last comment. "Or should I call you Mr. Big Bad Wolf?"

"Sti. Les. Leave. _Do not_. Rrr-" (did his growl get stuck in his throat?) "Run."

Well, this is a new one. Derek can't even form full words! Has he finally broken Derek's brain? Stiles wants to investigate more, but his self-preservation instincts kick in. He goes to the door.

…But screw that. YOLO, right? (Although, really, Stiles shouldn't think like that because chances are it'll just end up as You-Only-Live-Once-and-Then-Werewolves/Hunters/Derek's Abs-Will-Kill-You.) So he runs. Those self-preservation instincts never really stay for long. He laughs in exhilaration as he can _feel_ Derek's growl as the wolf prepares to give chase to the boy in the red hoodie.

/

_Too close_, Derek thinks. How had he let it come to this? He'd followed Stiles, as he would have even if the boy hadn't ran, but because the idiot had decided to run – seriously, is he brain damaged? – the wolf wanted to _hunt_. Stiles was only saved from ravishment (in all its clothes-ripping glory) by the fact that the rest of the pack had decided to show up right then.

He can't quite tell if the other wolves know what's going on, or whether they pile onto Stiles just because they enjoy it. The question is answered when Lydia smiles knowingly at him as she rolls around with the rest of them, like she can sense Derek's feelings, which he knows he hasn't taught them yet. Well, Lydia's always been a few thousand steps ahead of the rest of them. At least he can rely on Scott to be reassuringly obtuse.

"Why do you smell so much like Derek? Like, I mean, you usually smell like him, but now you just _reek_," Scott complains to his best friend.

Damn.

Stiles squawks and awkwardly scrambles to his feet, nearly falling over again as the three others try to bring him back.

"We were just, you know, we were just. Um. Redecorating. Right? Because this house, you know, could really use some sprucing up. And then. I fell? And Derek picked me up?"

This is close enough to the truth that the slight change in his heartbeat seems to be attributed to post-pile energy by his friends.

While Derek thinks this is the lamest excuse ever regardless of its clever half-truth, Stiles looks pleased with himself, probably because he's been bugging Derek about fixing up the house for weeks now. The other teens look pleased too; it seems as if he's going to have an uprising soon if he doesn't do something. So he decides to go along with Stiles, who is now in full swing, meaning thankfully everything stops sounding like a question.

"Yeah, I have the stuff in my Jeep, if you big strong wolves want to do the carrying. I was just looking around at where to start when I, you know, fell. Clumsy human," Stiles laughs.

Derek is surprised. He thought Stiles had just been there to… Well, he didn't know what, actually. He's just come to accept the fact that Stiles shows up whenever he wants, for no reason at all. That's why Derek couldn't believe his luck when Stiles showed up in a red hoodie; the boy was practically _screaming_ "Bite me." Except, as it turns out, he wasn't. Derek should talk to him about appropriate signal-sending, but Derek's never been good at that sort of thing. So he'll just ignore it.

It's not all bad – his pack's all here, and they're all happy, and his house is possibly going to become more like a home. He's almost smiling, until he sees the sheer amount of _stuff_ that the teens are pulling out of Stiles's Jeep.

"Stiles! What the hell am I going to do with all of this crap? …And where did you find it all?"

Stiles scratches his head sheepishly. "Mostly garage sales. I've been collecting for a while! And the others, too. We figured if you had all these electronics, you'd be forced to get electricity. Because, dude, you need to enter the 21st century. Bonus: we got you a waffle-maker. So like, get electricity, get waffles. There is no downside in this scenario."

They're all smiling at him with their hopeful faces; he can almost see the tails wagging. He can't stop his lips from twitching slightly, and his pack takes this as all the agreement they need to start moving everything into his house. But it's not just his house anymore, is it? It's _theirs_.

As they start working, Derek can't decide if he's overwhelmingly relieved or disappointed that Stiles takes off his red hoodie.

/

Derek clearly isn't going to involve himself more than necessary in this redecoration process, so the role of Ultimate Supervisor falls to Stiles. It's strange, how everybody lately seems to defer automatically to him. Stiles doesn't want to think about it too much. But even as he helps direct everybody and enjoys ordering them around, Stiles can't stop himself from checking every now and then to see what Derek's doing.

It results in a lot of prolonged eye-contact.

Lydia and Jackson clearly think they know what's going on here, although Scott is still blissful in his who-needs-brain-cells state. They're taking longer and longer with each trip to the Jeep, holding what Stiles is starting to think are diabolical plotting conferences. While he's happy that they've moved on from whatever bad place they'd been in earlier, having them back as a power couple (romantic or not, Lydia and Jackson will always be a power couple) is vaguely frightening. He catches them eyeing him speculatively. Scratch that, it's downright terrifying.

Derek doesn't seem to be particularly concerned, however, so Stiles continues his stream of increasingly inane orders.

/

Lydia knows that if she waits for Derek and Stiles to work themselves out alone, it will be years before anything is accomplished.

She saw the way that Derek had been looking at Stiles in the red hoodie (really? That's just so _obvious_ of him) and the way that Stiles's heartbeat picked up as he stammered out his excuse. Do Scott and Jackson really not notice these things? It's not as if Derek and Stiles are subtle about it either; this weird mating dance between the two of them has been going on for weeks. She's not even sure that they've noticed, though, how they seek out each others' touch for comfort, or how the three betas willingly take orders from a human without question. Obviously, something must be done.

Today might have been the last piece of the puzzle for Jackson, who has finally caught on. That's good, help is always useful. They're going to need something powerful to overcome Derek's hang-ups and Stiles's apparent obliviousness.

The red hoodie, as loathe as she is to resort to something so gauche, seems like a good start.

When they're all getting ready to leave, Lydia leaves the hoodie inside Derek's bedroom (there's no such thing as too obvious when it comes to getting two guys to talk about their feelings), while Jackson goads Scott into leaving with them. Her part is done.

She smiles and waves goodbye to Derek, but he's too busy trying not to run into his house after Stiles, who had gone back to look for his hoodie, to notice. That's fine, he'll thank her later.

/

This time, Derek gets the chase he wants. Stiles is pretty happy, too.

/

They don't really talk about it afterwards. Well, Stiles talks, obviously, but skirts the whole yeah-we-just-had-sort-of-sex-in-the-woods-because-Derek's-turned-on-by-red-hoodies issue (there just are no short titles for these sorts of things, and it's not like Stiles is particularly concise in the first place). Derek just sort of grunts in response, mumbling into Stiles's skin, "It's not the hoodie, idiot. It's you. In the hoodie. Or not. Just you."

Stiles privately thinks that this is kind of cute, but he likes his limbs where they are, thank you very much, so that's staying inside his head. Instead, he asks what's for dinner.

"How about some waffles?"

Dinner is a quiet affair; both of them too tired to do much more than eat. They're comfortable, with Stiles happily stretched out on top of Derek, and it doesn't even matter that the waffles are mysteriously burnt and under-cooked at the same time. They'll have plenty of chances to practice.

* * *

A/N: Title from One Direction's _Stand Up_. Reviews are loved! Unbeta'd, so forgive any mistakes :)


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